


you're extraordinary (not just at first sight)

by cROAissant



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Flowers, M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cROAissant/pseuds/cROAissant
Summary: “He hasn’t worn one of these in years,” Yuuko sighed, tapping her finger against the image. “A shame, really, he looked so great in them too. I’m sure he’d look just as amazing as he did then.”After a minor mishap mid-Russian Nationals, Yuuri takes it upon himself to show Victor just how much he means to him.Written for Viktuuri Reverse Bang 2018





	you're extraordinary (not just at first sight)

**Author's Note:**

> I had the honor of working with the amazing [Loris](http://ango-mcmango.tumblr.com/) for the 2018 Viktuuri Reverse Bang. You'll find her art down there in the fic, but head on over to her blog too to send her all the love!

 

“And that’s it!” Yuuko cheered, plopping Victor’s stolen striped shirt with the rest of Yuuri’s everyday wear. She cast him a pointed look through half-lidded eyes, “I can’t believe I nearly let you do this without me. To think you actually considered bringing your outfit from the GPF press conference with you.”

Yuuko sat cross-legged on his bed, helping Yuuri pack most of his belongings for St. Petersburg. What wouldn’t be shipped off the following week would be stuffed in Yuuri’s suitcase and a sizable box to take with him on the plane. When she learned that he had yet to prepare for the move, his oldest friend lovingly dragged him home by the ear to get started. Two hours later, his clothing was sorted into piles to take, leave, and burn. Yuuri huffed, not knowing what he did to deserve this kind of harassment about his fashion choices. No one had a problem with his clothes before — it had been his go-to suit for years — but one complaint from Victor and suddenly it was the most hideous thing on the planet.

Yuuko rolled her eyes, following his mournful gaze to the box where his old suit and tie lay.

“Yuuri, you look fine in that suit,” she assured, “but it does nothing for you. Victor bought you one in Barcelona for a reason!”

He grimaced, “He spends way too much on me.”

“You say that like you don’t enjoy it. Face it, you’re still the spoiled little Yuu-kun on the inside.”

He balked, “I was never spoiled!”

Yuuko raised a brow, the sly upturn of her lips hinting to which parent the triplets inherited their deviousness from. “Oh? Then explain these,” she chirped, reaching down to pull a sizable stack of posters from under Yuuri’s bed.

Yuuri’s cheeks pinked at the sight. “I got those fair and square and you know it.”

“Sure, if you call batting your huge, watery eyes at everyone until they gave in ‘fair’,” she snorted, rifling through images of Victor between ages sixteen and twenty-seven. She chuckled at the slightly worn poster of his teenage fiancé in the unmistakable black and mesh of his — _their_ — costume from the Junior Grand Prix Final, the first one in Yuuri’s vast collection. “Even I wasn’t immune to them. I can’t believe I actually gave you my limited edition poster just ‘cause you asked.”

“I asked politely,” he muttered.

“It was limited edition,” she deadpanned. “Mama used every single one of her connections to get her precious little girl a poster of her idol and I just gave it to you to celebrate your gay awakening.”

“It was not!”

Yuuko smirked. “That little gasp I heard when you watched him spin said otherwise.”

“I should have asked Nishigori to help me instead,” he sighed.

“Please, you and Takeshi would find a video game in this mess and waste the rest of the evening playing. Don’t think I don’t know you!”

“Just put the posters back where you took them from,” he pouted.

“Under your bed?” Yuuko gasped, scandalized. “I thought you were just storing them here to save face when you and Victor finished off your Kama Sutra list in here?”

_“We do not–”_

“You’re only fooling yourself if you think all of Hasetsu doesn’t know you get good sex on the regular.”

His pink cheeks puffed indignantly, glaring and jutting his lower lip out just so. Why people thought the triplets took after their father when their mother had been Hasetsu’s eyes, ears, and mouth for the better part of fifteen years was beyond him. “Just put them back. I’m not bringing them with me anyway.”

The sound that came of out Yuuko’s throat was a curious combination of a strangled shriek and a disbelieving croak. She towered over him in the blink of an eye, hands squarely on her hips, and her best “Mama’s Disappointed in You” glare boring into him. He’d long since learned from experience to wait for Yuuko to speak rather than ask what he did wrong. He still had nightmares of the last time he made that mistake.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” she began, her tone murderous. She leaned forward and raised a stiff finger to his face, “You did _not_ just tell me that you’re leaving your prized collection of Victor Nikiforov memorabilia – the one you’ve been hoarding like some deranged ice dragon for twice as long as my children have been alive – here, while you go off to St. Petersburg! What kind of ascended fanboy are you?”

She paused briefly, a hasty conclusion leaping into her train of thought. The manic glint in her eyes intensified and she gasped, “Are you ashamed of your collection now that you have the real thing? Who put that idea in your head, I’ll thump them! Was it you? Do I need to thump you?”

Yuuri scrambled to respond, knowing the only thing more difficult than calming Yuuko down from a self-righteous rampage was changing her mind. Telling her the truth, as silly as it was, would decrease the chances of him being manhandled by his oldest friend. He raised his hands in placication and spoke quickly.

“It’s not that, I swear! Yuu-chan, _no– put those pillows down!_ _I’m sensitive!_ ” Yuuri shielded his head from the barrage of soft hits aimed for him. “I’m not bringing them ‘cause Victor won’t hold back!” The downy attack didn’t relent; Yuuko wouldn’t settle with his usual turnabout explanations. “He said he’s going to match each piece I have of him with one of me!”

Yuuko froze, holding up Yuuri’s pillows with raised arms. She blinked rapidly for a few moments before the realization dawned on her. She dropped her arms heavily, the pillows slipping through her now lax grip. In a single swift motion, Yuuko collapsed along the length of his bed and laughed unabashedly. Yuuri felt the heat seep into his cheeks, growing hotter with each hearty chortle.

“Get out of my house.”

“Oh, Yuuri!” she wheezed between peals of laughter, “Don’t– don’t be like that! I’m just– _oh, my god_ – I’m just teasing. I can’t _breathe_ , oh my god!” Yuuko laughed for another ten minutes, and Yuuri used that time to moodily text Nishigori about his taste in women. When evil incarnate finally had her fill of laughing at his predicament, squealing happily one last time, she spoke.

“Oh, the irony! Out fanboy-ed by your own lifelong idol,” she giggled, wiping away a stray tear.

Yuuri whined, “And I know he has a few things of me already. Minami-kun got to him.”

It was a well-known fact that Minami Kenjirou was the authority on Yuuri Katsuki merchandise. While his connections paled in comparison to Yuuri’s close friends and family, the seventeen year old spared no expense to develop his intricate network of dealers to supply him and other dedicated fans to the hottest additions of the Katsuki Yuuri collection. It was only a matter of time before he ensnared Victor as well.

Yuuko raised a brow, “You do know that he’s had posters of you since he arrived, right? Where do you think that display of you in the entrance went?”

He groaned, “I thought they just took it down!”

“Nope, sweetie. It’s probably gracing one of Victor’s walls right about now, if not here, then in St. Petersburg. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it, actually.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes, “He probably put it by the marble bust.”

“You still hate it?”

“It looks at me, Yuuko. It judges my choices!”

“Yes, yes, haunted bust, nothing I haven’t heard before,” she dismissed with a lazy wave. Yuuko took the scattered stack back into her hands and scanned the posters again with a wistful smile. “It’s hard to believe that the same man in these posters is your fiancé now, Yuuri. Just a few years ago, you nearly got into a fistfight with Takeshi because he said you didn’t stand a chance of getting his attention.”

“I could still slam him into the ground, and you know it.”

“So sure of yourself, Katsuki. That’s my husband you’re talking about,” she snorted. Yuuko refocused her attention on the bounty in her hands. She took one from the pile and laid it gently on Yuuri’s bed. “But seriously, look at him!”

It was a promotional image from his win at the European Championships from the 2005-2006 season. It showed Victor in his late teens – long, platinum hair falling behind him in what had been his signature high ponytail – donned in his free skate costume from that season, silver accents shimmering against blue. Unlike other posters of the same era, this Victor wasn’t captured in motion; rather, he stood tall and proud, with a gold medal held delicately in his hand.

“He hasn’t worn one of these in years,” Yuuko sighed, tapping her finger against the image. The crown of blue roses perched on his head had been a present from one particularly jumpy fan in the stands. They’d screamed in rapid French until Victor made his way up to them after his free skate. Little Yuuri had been a mix of jealous and thrilled at the sight of the gorgeous flower crown — and so had the rest of the world for the next four years. The flower crown was Victor’s thing.

Yuuri shook his head, “Not since he cut his hair, no.”

She frowned, taking in the sight, “A shame, really, he looked so great in them too. The fans were insane for assuming he didn’t care for them just because he was in his twenties. I’m sure he’d look just as amazing as he did then—  a hundred times better even!”

“Of course he would,” Yuuri breathed, “he is Victor, after all.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri smiled at the gentle crooning that echoed from his phone speakers. It was past midnight, his sleepy little town long settled in for the night, and he and Victor were on their first Skype call of the day. While his coach scolded him more than a handful of times for staying up long past the normal hour, his fiancé was more than thrilled to greet the morning with his night owl across the sea. It was about seven in the morning in St. Petersburg, Victor having just arrived at Yubileyny for practice with Yakov. They would have another video call in the afternoon, Yuuri’s time, and sit down for a meal together.

Yuuri reclined himself on several pillows, two of his own and a handful of others taken from Victor’s room, with his laptop perched precariously across his knees and lower thighs. Nestled comfortably beside him, Makkachin woofed at Victor’s grinning image.

“How’s the best girl?” he cooed, “Did you have a good time with Axel, Lutz, and Loop today?”

Makka boofed in affirmative, her tail thumping cheerfully against the mattress. Yuuri laughed at the display and ruffled her fluffy head lovingly, “She sure did. Nishigori chased her and the girls across the beach all afternoon. They only settled down when Yuu-chan and I came to get them.”

“That’s my active girl, so full of energy!” Victor sang, “I miss you so much, my beautiful Makkachin.”

Yuuri nestled into his sheets, his eyes fluttering closed to allow Victor’s voice to wash over him. Among the many reasons he adored Victor, his smooth baritone was among the top; he loved listening to him speak. However, an irate squak snapped him from his reverie. He blinked to find his fiancé pouting at him, appearing heartbroken if not for the teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Yuuri, did you fall asleep on me?” he sighed, mock hurt coloring his tone. “And I was just about to ask how the best boy was doing...”

Makkachin, the ever faithful girl she was, whined along with him.

Yuuri rolled his eyes fondly, but he knew just how to win Victor over. He pulled his most innocent face on before responding, “Well, you tell me. How are you doing?”

The reaction that followed was as priceless as the first time Yuuri let the cheesy line slip. Victor’s whole body stiffened, his face frozen in astonishment – caught off-guard once again by their nightly ritual. A single chuckle from Yuuri broke him out of the petrified state, however, and his body slowly melted into a lovesick pile of goo. Yuuri loved watching it happen.

It would start with his eyes, blue pools watery and shimmering, then a bright pink would creep into his cheeks, growing darker with every passing second. His whole – _beautiful_ – face would wibble along with his mouth, growing wider in awe. While Yuuri wouldn’t see it from the call, Victor’s shoulders should hitch, unable to contain his emotions. The image of Victor on screen would waver just so, a result of the hand cradling Victor’s phone shaking along with the sudden influx of emotions. Finally, Victor would speak – voice cracking and full of so much love – and Yuuri would melt along with him.

“How could you say that with a straight face?” he cried, “You know what that does to me!”

From her place on Yuuri’s chest, Makkachin barked, laughing at Victor’s expense. Yuuri nuzzled into her curly fur, hiding his own heated cheeks from view.

“I can’t help it,” he argued. “It’s true.”

“Oh, you’re so good to me, lyubimiy,” he choked out, his left hand covering his face over the lower half of his face in an attempt to keep what little composure he had left. God, Yuuri loved this man. Thus, he couldn’t help the words that left his mouth in response.

“You’re so much better to me,” he whispered. Victor released a strangled screech in return. Yuuri sighed, heart bursting with feelings. Dear Makkachin, upset at being left out of the moment, lifted herself off of the bed – digging her paws into Yuuri’s poor, but acclimatized chest to nose carefully at Victor’s digital face. His fiancé laughed heartily at the action.

“No one ever wins this argument no matter how many times it’s happened,” he said. “Maybe we should finally settle on us both being right.”

It was Yuuri’s turn to scoff in faux annoyance, “You know I play to win, Victor. Hasn’t Phichit told you enough stories?”

Victor chuckled, the sound musical, “I suppose you’re right, no one could ever outdo my dearest Yuuri.”

He whined, “Now you’re being extra, my… my Victor.”

His eyes shone, glimmering in his enthrallment. “You make me so happy, Katsuki Yuuri. I really wish I could be with you right now to hold you in my arms.”

Yuuri chuckled, “And leave our poor Makkachin? She’s just as excited to finally see you in person after so long.”

“Of course, I can’t wait to see Makka too, but my little girl doesn’t intentionally make me a flustered mess at least once a week!”

Yuuri let out another laugh, “I guess I’m just talented that way.”

The look Victor responded with was painfully sappy and devoted. “Oh, I’m so tempted to book the closest flight back home to be with you. I’m sure Yakov will erupt like Vesuvius, but it’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before. Yurio and Georgi will be thrilled with not having their ice time cut by a third anymore!’

“Victor, please,” he said with a slow shake of the head. “We know out of everyone else that you should be training there with your coach.”

“But you need to be training with your coach too!

Yuuri smiled, indulgent but pleading, “You know just as much as I do that the FFKKR won’t take too kindly with their prodigal son returning then suddenly going off to train in Japan.”

He sighed, “The skating federation and their damn reputation. There are dozens, nay, hundreds of skaters who train outside their country!”

Yuuri hummed noncommittally, “It’s different when that skater is Russia’s pride and joy.”

Victor scoffed, “And here I thought someone else would have taken that spot while I was away. I’m proud of my place, don’t get me wrong, but I really wish I could be there for you at Nationals.”

Touched by the sentiment, Yuuri leaned his cheek against Makkachin’s head. Sometime in the last few moments, the poodle laid her weary body down for the night and allowed the long day to take her to doggy dreamland. He smiled at her little canine snores and returned his gaze to his conflicted coach and fellow skater.

“We’ve made so much progress even without you being physically present. Your advice from the videos I’ve been sending you have helped a lot,” he assured. “I’m landing my quad flips more often now, and Minako has been working on improving my artistry. I’d love for you to be here with me too, but you have your own Nationals to win.”

His heart broke a little at the forlorn expression that still remained on Victor’s face, so he continued, “It’s just for a little while longer, Victor. Just two weeks and you’ll be back home. Then just a few weeks after that before I come home with you.”

Home. For the longest time, home was the little family-run onsen that had been in his family for generations. Somewhere along the road, home had evolved from that to where his loved ones were – to where Victor was. Sure, the sudden move to a huge country across the sea was a frightening ordeal, but everyone including his family – especially his family – thought it was a fantastic opportunity for him to grow. They hadn’t discussed in full how long they would be staying. It could be a season or forever, but what really mattered to Yuuri was being there for Victor when he needed him. They would visit Hasetsu for special occasions, of course. Yuuri always regretted not coming home during  his five years in Detroit. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again, Okaa-san would never let him. But whether they were soaking in a hot spring or bracing through the freezing cold, Yuuri would be home as long as his Victor was with him.

“ _Home_ ,” Victor exhaled, a dreamy hint to his tone, “I suppose I can wait just a little longer to have you and Makka in my arms again. Now, why don’t you tell me how your programs are doing?”

Yuuri scoffed, narrowing his eyes at the sudden change of topic. He crossed his arms petulantly, “No fair! You know exactly how my programs are going. Tell me about yours!”

His fiancé tsked, wagging a teasing finger at the screen. “Now, Yuuri. I can’t just tell you how my programs are coming along. You’re my competition!”

“No fair!”

Victor laughed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Victor revealed his programs just five days before Russian Nationals. Yuuri would admit that he shouldn’t have been surprised by his announcement. With all of his time and attention focused on Yuuri during the off-season to the Grand Prix Final, Victor didn’t have time to create programs of his own for the upcoming season. Instead, he would be performing his programs from the previous season. The only major change would be to his exhibition skate; his previously fast-paced, upbeat music would be replaced with a surprise.

“He couldn’t be any more obvious!” Phichit screeched, his narrowed eyes boring into Yuuri’s. Fifteen minutes into their weekly, mandated friendship call and his friend couldn’t hold back his thoughts on Victor’s new program any longer. “Your husband is a huge dork with ‘extra’ running through his veins. His EX is gonna be about both of you, and you know it! You deserve each other, Yuuri, you really do.”

“He’s not my husband yet!” Yuuri cried, then in a lower, much sweeter murmur he added, “But he will be.”

“Look at you, so sappy and in love! I can’t believe there are actual people out there who think you’re some unaffectionate rock. They clearly haven’t seen you moon over Victor Nikiforov… or watch Hachiko.”

“He waited for him, Phichit! He waited for so long!”

“See, a huge sap filled with feelings!”

Yuuri sighed, slumping forward on his desk and cupping his chin with a propped hand. He stared at the smirking visage of his friend on his laptop screen before releasing an almighty groan of frustration. Before Phichit could react accordingly, he spoke.

“Was this a mistake?” he asked. “I really feel like this was a mistake. I know I was the one who insisted he come back to the ice in the first place, but maybe I should have given him a little more warning?” Yuuri dropped his arm on the smooth, wooden surface and buried his face into his elbow. “I was so focused on giving him what I thought he wanted, I didn’t think how hard it would be to come back so soon. What if this affects his performance? His scores? What if–”

“Okay, I’m gonna have to stop you there,” Phichit said, tone firm. Yuuri raised his head just enough to see the serious expression on his face. “I know I’ll probably never understand how that mind of yours can go from zero to a million so suddenly, but I’m not going to let you blame yourself for something Victor chose to do. He went into this, knowing he hadn’t prepared programs for himself this season, and did it anyway.”

Yuuri sat up straighter in his chair, somewhat pacified. He wasn’t completely convinced just yet, but hearing it from someone other than himself was a great help.

Phichit continued with a noncommittal wave of a hand, “And besides, if there’s anyone who can slay programs he did barely a year ago, it’s your husband – Winner McJumpy-Jump.”

“Excuse you,” he grumbled. A sudden thought sprang into Yuuri’s mind and he snorted, a small smirk replacing his previous sullen look. “It’s Winner Winnerson.”

Phichit laughed. “You definitely won the last name lottery there, my friend. It’s bad enough both of you get your names screwed with all the time on their own. Now you’re adding another name – in a different language, mind you – to the mess.”

“We’re not married yet, Phichit,” Yuuri said, exasperated.

“Yet,” his friend echoed, “Once you’ve got that National gold under your belt, you’ll be neck deep in wedding prep! Aren’t you glad your best man knows exactly which sections of your wedding book you actually want?”

“That wedding book was a drunken impulse and you know it,” Yuuri said. The annoyance in him melted away instantly, however, when Phichit’s words registered in his head. He sighed deeply.

“Did I say something wrong?” Phcihit asked, brows furrowed in concern.

Leave it to Phichit to recognize the sudden change in his mood the instant it happened. Yuuri shook his head, a hesitant smile crawling its way to his features. “No, it’s just me again. And nothing that bad. It’s just… Nationals.”

“Do I need to pull up your beautiful track record for you? You were in a dark place last year, so that one doesn’t count at all! Should I call the Nishigoris?”

“It’s not tha– please don’t call them, the triplets have slides and everything. Please, no.”

He laughed, “Well, if it’s not that, then what’s gotten you so down?”

Yuuri pouted, face pink and wary, “You’re going to think it’s silly.”

“Probably, yeah,” Phichit snorted, “but lay it on me anyway. What else would I do if not to share your ridiculous thoughts with?” He paused to take in Yuuri’s expression, and his own softened. “Come on, it can’t be as bad as you think. Your thoughts are valid, sad blobby.”

“Fine, but if you laugh,” Yuuri said, lips in a solemn line, “Yuuko’s my new best man.”

Phichit squawked, looking every bit as offended as the time a hockey player told called his hamsters rats. His friend backpedalled to the furthest wall, the action blurred to Yuuri from his side of the screen. When Phichit was flushed against it, he sunk slowly to the ground like a character from a bad Asian drama, his pained expression forlorn. Before he could bemoan the tragedy that was his now-ruined friendship, Yuuri cut him off.

“I will hang up on you right now if you quote Heartstrings again,” he deadpanned. “I hear enough of it from Nishigori.”

Phichit’s mouth clamped shut, upset at the interruption. He picked himself up from the ground and gave Yuuri his most unimpressed stare. “Hey, I found that series first, I should have first priority on quoting privileges.”

“You gave that up when you thought a married man with three small children would binge-watch slower than you!”

“Hey, it’s not– Wait.” He stopped, glaring with uncharacteristic intensity. “I know what you’re doing, you cheat. Tell me about your problems!”

“It’s not really a problem…” Yuuri began.

“Then tell me about your not-problem,” Phichit countered. “Yuuri, come on, please. _Please_.”

“Okay, okay. Just put those away and save them for something more important,” Yuuri sighed, referring to the too-shiny eyes and thoroughly crushed look that Phichit threw at him. “But you really are going to think it’s dumb… It’s just… You know that Japanese and Russian Nationals overlap, right?”

Phichit hummed, prompting him to continue.

“And I really wanted to cheer Victor on for his comeback.”

“Oh, Yuuri…”

“I told him to do this… and yes, he’s a grown man who can make his own choices, but I really feel like I pushed him to do this anyway. I helped him make this decision, and I’m not there for his first competition. How could I not be there for him? He’d been nothing but supportive of me, and I’m here just… not there for him! And— _and—!_ ”

“Woah, woah! Breathe, Yuuri!” Phichit raised his hands in placication, “Last time I checked, you were still in Japan for your own Nationals, not to abandon the love of your life.”

“But I _am_ —”

“ _No_ , you’re not,” he pressed, “Even without you being there, you're supporting him. You know this. He knows this. Heck, everyone who’s ever _seen_ you two together know that you can support each other with a _look_.” The smile that grew on Phichit’s lips was wider than he’d ever seen. “You ridiculous sappy idiot. I can’t believe you think you're not supporting him enough.”

Yuuri was quick to defend himself, with a red face that was becoming a regular occurrence as of late. “I did say it was silly!”

“It’s not silly, you dingdong. It’s the sweetest damn thing,” he laughed. He shook his head amusedly as he said, “And if you’re worried about not showing enough support, why don’t you use your Yuuri-brand exhibitionism and do something for him when he comes back. Oh! Something with flowers. I know that you know that Victor’s a huge slut for romantic stuff like that.”

Yuuri squinted petulantly, “I don’t know whether to be insulted for him or myself with what you said…”

Phichit shrugged, “Not gonna lie, Yuuri. You’re the last person who should be insulted about being called an exhibitionist. It’s worked wonders for you so far.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Aw, come on,” he whined, “I was so sure you’d be panicked about ‘redeeming yourself’ at Nationals that I didn’t expect cute, sappy romance problems. Let me bask in the moment a little!”

“Oh I’m plenty panicked about that too,” Yuuri handwaved. “This is just more important. Like, Phichit, what can I give a man who insists that just having me to talk to is enough? How is that enough?”

“I don’t know, Yuuri,” Phichit said, tapping away at his screen. “You tell me.”

Yuuri jumped at the sudden vibration from his phone that had been lying face down at the far end of his desk all the while. With Victor at practice, Phichit on his laptop, and no appointments coming to mind, he didn’t think he would need to pay attention to it. Swiping it open, he found that Phichit had sent him a link to an article translating Victor’s press conference regarding his programs. “Phichit, what?”

“Just humor me, okay?” he said, “You’ve probably already read this one a hundred times, but I want you to read what Victor says about his exhibition skate. Just do it, read the article and tell me how Victor could possibly think that’s enough.”

Yuuri had, in fact, read the article several times since it had popped up around both SNS and figure skating forums, but he only really focused on what he thought was important: that Victor was only changing his exhibition skate. The rest, he’d glossed over with growing trepidations, far too consumed by the fact that his own hasty decisions may have led to Victor’s lack of preparation for his comeback. With that gloom mostly out of his system, he read.

_**Nikiforov:** ...it is also quite presumptuous, considering I wouldn’t even be performing it without having medaled first. The only answer I can really give you is that I wanted to show the world something that would mean more than competition – something that wouldn’t be judged by how technically or artistically difficult it was to pull off and… something that is just for me. I changed my exhibition skate to show the world that I’ve changed a little as well, and that it’s all thanks to finally having life and love with me._

“What did I tell you?” Phichit’s voice sizzled through the room. “A huge dork, and a sappy one too!”

Yuuri loved his sappy dork.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The night before Yuuri was due to travel to Osaka for Nationals, his mother set four steaming bowls of love and temptation for them to eat. Dinner was much quieter than the previous pre-competition ones had been, with only five of them huddling around the low table – Yuuri, his family, and Makkachin in a corner with her own bowls of food. Their customers, the Nishigoris, and Minako seemed to have come to an agreement to give them this evening together without any distractions. It wouldn’t be their last dinner together by far, but it would be the last pre-competition meal that Yuuri would have with his family for the foreseeable future. Four Continents would be happening in February, and he would have long settled in St. Petersburg by then.

“I know that look,” Mari called, breaking him out of his reverie. “You’re spending New Year here, so you don’t need to be all mopey. Just Skype us now and then, like you do with Phichit, and it’ll be like nothing’s changed. And bring souvenirs when you come visit for the off-season.”

She always did know what to say.

“Of course,” Yuuri chuckled, “Victor said he already has a few things packed up for you, so souvenirs are the last thing you need to worry about.”

His mother smiled, “That’s Vicchan for you, always so thoughtful.”

“Maybe he’ll bring over some of that nice vodka he told me about last time,” his father laughed.

There had always been a part of Yuuri that found dinner conversation, even with his own family, awkward. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy spending time with them, but he’d never had much to say. He was only really comfortable talking about dancing, or skating… or Victor. Yuuri couldn’t help the part of himself that felt that the repertoire he’d had with his family would fizz away the instant he was left alone with them – no Yuuko, no Minako, no Victor.

But he always seemed to underestimate how much his family cared about him.

Yuuri sat up in attention at the sound of his name, and his mother gestured to the untouched bowl before him.

“I know you’re supposed to be on your diet, dear, but Vicchan told me specifically that you could have it tonight,” she said, smiling.

“He did?”

“Called us this afternoon,” Mari added, scrolling through her phone. She showed him a photo of a quickly scrawled note in Victor’s unmistakable, blocky handwriting, “Even gave us a note ‘cause he knew you wouldn’t believe us.”

“Coach’s orders, son,” his father sang, “you have to eat my cooking.”

He laughed, “I would never willingly deny myself katsudon, Tou-san.”

“I don’t make it like your mother does.”

“Oh honey, I learned it all from you.”

“We all know how to make katsudon, Kaa-san,” Mari snorted. “Well, everyone but Yuuri.”

Yuuri couldn’t care less at the slight, however, as he had already taken a bite of sweet pork heaven.

The conversation didn’t quite die down as they ate. They spoke of mundane things between bites and requests for seconds and water. It seemed dad’s soccer team was doing well after their near miss in their last game. Mom would be having tea with a few friends at the end of the week; it had been a while since they all had free time to hang out as friends. Mari made the advance order on their Christmas chicken that morning, so they wouldn’t have to worry about lines this year. Makkachin eventually finished her own meal and padded over to them with shining eyes and the mother of all puppy dog pouts, and Yuuri found himself unable to resist such a sad sight.

His mother tsked. “Yuuri, now you know better than to feed Makkachin at the table. She’s already eaten.”

“But look at her Kaa-san,” Yuuri whined. On cue, the smart poodle rounded the table and lay her fluffy head on his mother’s lap. She broke instantly.

“What’s this about not feeding her scraps?” his father chuckled, his mother cooing softly at their giant puppy.

“Oh, you know I can’t say no to that face.”

The cycle continued, with Toshiya leaning in to give Makkachin some of his food and Mari chiding him while simultaneously cutting of a piece of cutlet to feed the dog seconds later. It had been a game of theirs since Yuuri had gotten Vicchan. None of them were strong enough to resist the sheer cuteness of a begging poodle.

“We’re gonna have to take an extra long walk tonight, Makka,” Yuuri cooed, scratching her behind the ears fondly as she returned to his side. She boofed excitedly in response, as if all had gone according to her master plan. By the satisfied look on her face, it likely had.

Soon their meal wound to a close, their father turning the TV on to a convenient ad for Japanese Nationals. Conversation naturally drifted to competitions, both his and Victor’s.

“Yuuko said she’ll bring the triplets over to watch the stream with you,” Yuuri said, when asked about coverage of Russian Nationals, “She said something about hooking her laptop up to the TV so you aren’t all smushed together.”

“I’m thrilled we get to see Vicchan skate this year,” his mother crooned. “It will be exciting for sure.”

Mari snorted at that, “You make it sound like we haven’t watched every single one of his competitions over the past twelve years.”

“What did I ever do to you for you to treat me like this?” he glared. His sister, ever mature, stuck her tongue out at him in jest. Yuuri would have responded with equal maturity if not for his mother’s well-timed interruption.

“That reminds me,” she said, “we should put up one of Vicchan’s posters along with yours, Yuuri. It’ll be a nice surprise for him when he comes home.”

His father chuckled, “If anything, it’d be a nice touch to his birthday party decorations.”

His mother had apparently been planning his fiancé’s party for almost as long as she’d planned Yuuri’s. Victor insisted he didn’t need anything big when he returned, but nothing short of the apocalypse would stop Hiroko Katsuki from celebrating a son’s birthday.

Of course, rather than focus on that, Yuuri lifted Makkachin from his lap to his face to hide his furious blush. He was proud of his poster collection, sure, but he wasn’t going to go and let his family put them up everywhere. Those posters had seen things. Naturally, his mother saw right through him and used her patented doe eyes and loving mom voice.

“We don’t have to put them all up, dear,” she assured, hands pressed against smiling lips, “just your favorite one. Like the one you had framed or the one with the roses?”

Except that Yuuri didn’t have a favorite one, and Kaa-san knew just that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Yuuri was in first place after the short program. While he hadn’t beaten Yurio’s (or Victor’s) record, he would be going into the free skate with a margin of almost 20 points from second place. With his record-winning program up ahead, there was no chance he wouldn’t get anything other than gold tomorrow. He wasn’t called Japan’s Ace for nothing, after all.

Yuuri was rewarded for his unnaturally confident outlook with a dewy bottle of hotel room soda pressed to his face.

He yelped then shot a glare at man attached to the offending can, “There’s a combini down the block! Put that back in the fridge with all the other overpriced food.”

Minako snorted through a bar of fancy chocolate that would surely cut a hole into his prospective winnings. “Victor wired us the cash to treat ourselves, so don’t worry your graceful little head.” She then added as an afterthought, “Though I guess some of it was supposed to be for you, so meh.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes at them shamelessly stuffing their faces, “Just how much did you swindle out of my– out of Victor?”

“Your what, Yuuri?” Nishigori smirked, hand coming to his lips in a manner reminiscent of Phichit, “Fiancé? Husband? Looooooover?”

Minako shot him a similar amused look, cat-like smile and all. Yuuri was saved from responding, and their teasing, by Yulia Lipnitskaya announcing the start of Russian Nationals. Yuuri all but shoved his companions out of the way to get the best view of the TV. He was going to watch Victor skate live, pay-per-view costs be damned! By the time Victor was due on the ice, Yuuri was bouncing in his seat. His anticipation wasn’t aided by the fact that Victor’s name had been all over the place since his comeback announcement. Truth be told, he was thankful that Victor was up first – by virtue of having taken most of the season off – or Yuuri would have popped something.

He watched as the love of his life took the ice, each twirl and swipe of the hand another note to the symphony that was Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri gasped with each jump, cheering along with the mesmerized crowd. Victor never ceased to amaze him. It was no wonder that Victor’s program kept him in the top spot…

… until the last group went on.

Yuuri exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief with his companions as the recap announced the rankings. Victor would be skating seventeenth; he was in third. Victor hadn’t gone into the free skate in any other place but first in the last six years.

His worry built as the footage cut from the short program highlights to the gobsmacked expressions on both Yuri’s and Georgi’s faces. When the camera finally panned to Victor, who until then had been standing sentry beside Yakov, he winked without missing a beat. He was rewarded with a cacophony of shrieking from the stands and worry building in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach.

The feeling only grew, clenching his insides relentlessly, with each response Victor gave to every rabid reporter. Yuuri lunged for his phone as soon as the footage cut, his fingers swiping frantically and hoping Victor would answer. It took several tries, and when the call finally went through, Yuuri nearly sobbed in relief. The feeling was ripped out of his chest, however, by the plastic cheer in Victor’s greeting.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Of course, darling. Why wouldn’t I be?” the feigned cheer persisting, “Oh no, have you been calling long? Yakov wouldn’t let me go without one of his cranky lectures.”

He hesitated, “No… ah, are you back in your hotel room?”

Victor responded with a lecherous hum, “Am I getting my reward for today’s performance then?”

He didn’t need to do this, not for Yuuri.

“Victor,” he said, voice soft, “You’re in third.”

“So I am,” he agreed, curious and casual. “Not too bad for a comeback skate, right?” And even without seeing his face, Yuuri felt all the false charm he forced into his response. If only he were there with him.

“Victor, I said you didn’t have to be anything but you, didn’t I?”

Victor faltered, his answer uncertain, “A-and I am, dear. You have to deal with all 180 centimeters of high-maintenance, Russian glory.”

Victor certainly knew how to distract him. At any other situation, Yuuri would hop right onto the manic fanboy/loving fiancé distraction bus, but this wasn’t the time. He supposed it was for the best that they were apart right then, otherwise Yuuri wouldn’t have been quite so direct.

“Then why aren’t you telling me how you really feel, Victor?” And to his surprise, that was all Victor needed.

They continued for another hour, Victor expressing just how frustrated he was at his poor performance and how he must have disappointed everyone that evening. Yuuri made sure to reassure him at every pause, something surprisingly easy to do despite his own insecurities.

“To think you admired me for so long,” then he paused, and Yuuri knew he messed up, “and I show you _that_ after a break from skating.”

“No, stop right there! You could never disappoint me,” he cried, fervent and pleading, “You’re amazing, Victor. You’re more than I could have ever imagined – and I’ve spent twelve years imagining.”

“But Yuuri–”

“If you insist that you disappointed me, then skate your heart out tomorrow. No one can skate like you, and you’re going to show me with a gold medal. Show me my Victor!” There was no room for argument, and Victor knew it. Victor sighed.

“You’re too good to me,” he said, voice thick but happy, “you know just what to say.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” he laughed.

He chuckled along with him, “I suppose I’ll have to work extra hard on my program. Yurio and Georgi aren’t pushovers, after all. I’ll make you proud tomorrow – you and little Yuuri, both. I can’t do that to the sweet little boy who learned how to make flower crowns, hoping to give me one in competition one day.”

“You promised not to mention that again,” he whined, “It’s embarrassing!”

“Oh, Yuuri, I love you so much~”

“And I love you.”

They would congratulate each other on their matching gold medals the following evening — Yuuri retaining his wide gap, and Victor winning by the skin of his teeth. Sweet nothings would intermingle with excited praise until Yakov‘s dulcet yelling boomed across the sea. Yuuri would be treated to a stream of harried Russian before Victor, trying his best to sound chastised, encouraged them both to get a good night’s sleep for their upcoming exhibitions. By then, Yuuri was only slightly embarrassed by his impulsive decision to call Yakov and a florist, before buying the tickets to the soonest flight to Chelyabinsk.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took less than an hour to drive from Namihaya Dome to Kansai International Airport, but Yuuri swore the ride was taking at least twice as long in Nishigori’s van. It didn’t help that Yuuko’s husband refused to take any of Yuuri’s GPS-aided shortcuts.

“Take a left here – no, _left! Nishigori!_ ”

“I know where I’m going,” he growled, fingers tapping the steering wheel impatiently as he’d done every other time Yuuri chimed in, stubbornly insisting that he knew better. Nishigori did not know better.

“No, you don’t, it’s been half an hour and we’re nowhere near the airport!”

He shot Yuuri a long-suffering glare from the rearview mirror, “We’ll get there when we get there!”

His and Nishigori’s friendship had been an interesting one since the man was graced with triplets. The man was every bit as playful and condescending as he was in their teens, but now with dad-ish flair – something that never failed to grind his gears whenever it was pointed out. It was unavoidable, what with his three rambunctious girls, but Yuuri was a horrible friend and had years of childhood teasing to make up for.

Yuuri gaped, “Did you just use your Dad-voice on me?”

“I will turn this car around, Katsuki.”

Huffing, Yuuri slumped back into his seat, pillowed between his overstuffed gym bag and the rucksack that had been thrown in after him. The latter contained his trusty jacket and a comfortable outfit to change into after the quick escape following his exhibition. Without his good friend, Yuuri was sure he would be off on this journey still in his costume and skates. He was thankful that Nishigori and Minako were thoughtful (experienced) enough to know that Yuuri put little to no planning in any of his ideas. He hadn’t been the only one surprised by his fruitful calls to the airlines, the florist, and Coach Feltsman.

“Got everything?” Nishigori said, breaking him out of his reverie. “Phone? Charger? Wallet? Thank god, you never unpack or that passport of yours wouldn’t even be with you.”

He rolled his eyes at the slight, “Yes, mom. I have everything.”

Nishigori ignored him with the patience of a father of three, “I swear, you should’ve gotten first class tickets there. Going on two flights after a competition is going to kill you.”

He shot him a withering look, “It’s that or not making it to his skate. I’ve already missed his birthday, I can’t miss his exhibition too.”

“Yeah,” his friend drawled, “I could hear you from the hall, you didn’t miss his birthday.”

Yuuri ignored the sudden fire in his face to lob the rucksack right for the crown of Nishigori’s head. Thankfully, his friend was a good enough driver to take the shot, but not accidently drive them off the side of the road.

Thirty minutes later, Nishigori dropped him off with several reminders, including, but not limited to, calling Coach Feltsman when he arrived, dropping by the florist before the hotel, leaving a quick post to his fans to thank them for their support, and getting a shower (because he would be smelling more like death after more than half a day surrounded by recycled air). Yuuri, focusing all his remaining energy into trudging on with his ridiculous idea, left with a single nod and a quick thank you.

What followed were the longest and blurriest sixteen hours of Yuuri’s life. He’d caught a quick nap on the way to Seoul, the two-hour flight doing nothing for the oppressing tiredness that gripped him from the moment he boarded. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to shoot Victor a quick message as he waited for his connecting flight (one hour turning into two, because Aeroflot).

_**Me:** sleepy. crashing til ur ex. davai  <3_

It wouldn’t be enough to prevent a stream of worried, loving texts, but it would be an adequate explanation for why they wouldn’t be having their daily lunch call tomorrow, er… later that day. He sorely regretted not listening to Nishigori during the arduous thirteen-hour flight to Chelyabinsk; a combination of frayed nerves and the small child sitting behind him prevented him from getting a decent night’s rest. He was sure he’d passed out at some point, but the exhaustion still enveloped him in its comfy clutches when the plane finally touched down at his destination. Fortunately, Coach Feltsman, who Nishigori had contacted earlier on in the day, was there to drag his useless self into his car then a hotel room.

“And to think I believed you would be the least stubborn of them all, Katsuki!” he barked, helping him get his blobby form under blankets.

“B’fwrs,” he argued, eyes growing heavier with each petulant whine. He needed sleep, but he needed to surprise Victor more. This was important. This was Victor!

A displeased grunt was Coach Feltsman’s response, “I will wake you when it is time. Sleep! I will have someone get Vitya’s cursed flowers.”

“B’not Vitya,” he demanded, unable to resist the bed’s comfortable call. “G’tta s’prise ‘im.”

With a final whine, Yuuri buried his face into plush heaven and let himself be dead to the world for a scant few hours. Vitya would love what Yuuri planned for him, he just knew it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As promised, Coach Feltsman screamed him awake a mere five hours after he’d fallen asleep. Channeling the great and terrible powers of a lazy but brilliant college student hopped up on far too much caffeine and instant noodles with only minutes to submit their final paper to the most ancient, no nonsense, and nitpicky professor in all of university history, Yuuri showered, dressed, and downed a steaming cup of tea in twenty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds. Coach Feltsman, who had observed his flurry of manic activity with an expression somewhere between awe and concern, simply shoved a wide, square box into his hands.

“When you are through with your ridiculously over-the-top display of affection, you are marching straight to Vitya’s room and sleeping, you hear me?”

Coach Feltsman had not only allowed Yuuri to make use of his own hotel room, but had also brought him tea, picked up his order from the florist, and pulled all the necessary strings to get his flighty ass a rinkside spot for the exhibition skate. Apparently, Coach Feltsman fabricated some story about an insistent, long-time sponsor to explain his sudden departure from his skaters’ practice sessions. Madame Baranovskaya, having been the one to suggest the florist in the first place, backed him up with her usual poised nonchalance and took charge of their last hour on the ice.

A day and a half after Yuuri’s manic planning came to fruition, he would feel all the embarrassment and gratefulness he should have hours before. However, sleep deprivation and laser focus on the matter at hand only had him demanding to be taken to the rink at once. Coach Feltsman only sighed, long used to his own skater’s one-track minds and absurdities, and lead him to their destination.

Traktor Ice Arena hosted several of Russia’s largest sporting events. It had been one of Yuuri’s many teenage fantasies to one day visit to watch Victor Nikiforov skate. He would be doing more than that today, though. By the end of the night, Yuuri would be watching the love of his life take the ice and surprise him with a little something of his own.

“Everyone but Victor knows,” Mila squealed, Russian team jacket over her sleek, vine-like costume and her skates replaced with a comfortable pair of running shoes. She abandoned her male rinkmates backstage to sit with him (and her sister, a tall, brunette ice dancer) until the main event. Why everyone insisted on calling it that was beyond him. Their exhibitions were important here, Yuuri and his flowers were just for Victor. “He’s been mopey without your daily call. He’ll be thrilled seeing you here!”

“Wait, everyone?” he gasped, clutching the precious box to himself. He eased his grip slightly lest the treasure within be damaged.

She snorted behind a hand, “You don’t think we actually believed Coach’s excuse, do you? Sponsors know better than to disturb him during competition.”

Yuuri faltered, “Ah... oh. Then–!”

Mila braced him by the shoulders, coaxing him back onto the seat he’d unknowingly leaped out of. It was fortunate the pairs hadn’t begun their exhibitions just yet, he would have made a scene otherwise. She raised both hands toward him, placating.

“I just said Victor didn’t notice,” she laughed, “He’s been preoccupied by his EX and you.”

“Me?” She raised a delicate brow at him, deadpan and unimpressed, and he flushed. Had Victor suddenly dropped off the earth for twenty-odd hours after a quick text, Yuuri would be bouncing off the walls too. Mila, who had been there for the Hug Fiasco at Rostelecom, understood.

They sat together through the pair exhibitions, Mila sharing fun facts about the skaters. Each performance was far less heart-stoppingly difficult now that scoring was out of the picture. That however, didn’t detract from how breathtaking they were. Pair skating had only recently been making headway in Japan, with only four groups. In comparison to Russia whose pairs were in the double digits, competition wasn’t quite as cutthroat.

In no time at all, the announcer was hyping up the audience for Georgi’s exhibition skate. Mila wasted no time in shoving him off his seat towards the backstage.

“Mila, what–?”

She walked on, now pulling him by the arm down the stairs. With Georgi’s… unique skate on the flat screen televisions littering the area, few paid heed to a Japanese skater. Those that did were kind enough to do nothing but stare bemusedly at his presence.

“You can appreciate Georgi and Yuri rinkside,” she explained. “Any later and you will miss your chance.”

“But he’ll see me,” he whispered, despite the slim chance of his target overhearing.

“Don’t worry, Yakov should be keeping him busy,” she smiled, “If anything, Drama, Edgy, and their overdone eyeliner should prevent him from looking around.”

As the final beats of Georgi’s performance echoed through the stadium, the pair reached the entrance to the rink. Yuuri’s eyes immediately locked on the consistently breathtaking visage of his fiancé. Mila tugged him insistently, gesturing to a spot where they could stand out of sight. She chuckled when Yuuri’s eyes stayed a little too long on Victor’s back.

“You can gawk at him all you want when he takes the ice,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “For now, let’s watch Yuri be unnecessarily edgy.”

Yuuri jumped slightly at the sharp screaming of Yurio’s EX music. While he had seen “Welcome to the Madness” before, Yurio’s metal-rock fusion remained a shocking sight.

Mila snorted, “He fought tooth and nail to keep that stupid Barcelona club outfit, you know.”

He laughed, “At least he looks happy.”

If glaring murder at the audience and tossing articles of clothing across the ice counted as happy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A single spotlight followed Victor as he took the ice, his golden blades gleaming against the darkened ice. His single lap along the frozen surface allowed Yuuri to admire the costume he’d chosen for his exhibition skate – a grey vest and black pants, white shirt sleeves rolled just below his elbows, a pristine tie, violet and with matching a pocket square on his left breast. He was the image of regality, if not for the subtle frown that marred his features.

_Silly, you’re not worried about me, are you?_

Over a day without contact surely would have had him worrying. Yuuri only ever delayed replying to his daily string of morning hearts on bad days, and never for more than a few hours with profuse apologies. He hadn’t considered how he would be affecting Victor’s concentration with his impulsiveness. He would have to apologize when this was all over.

Victor finished his lap, gliding to the center and stealing a final glance at the boards. He blinked once, and his previously somber demeanor shifted into shock, his jaw dropping slightly and eyes shining. By the commotion on the stands, it seemed everyone else spotted him too. Yuuri chuckled, it was about time he noticed him standing there. He’d come out of his hiding spot half-way through Yurio’s skate.

With confidence fueled by his fiancé’s charm and his own sleep deprivation, Yuuri winked and sent him a flying kiss. He laughed again at the little wiggle of happiness Victor responded with. As the announcer’s amplified voice encouraged the audience to settle down, Victor bowed into his starting position – right foot pointed behind his left, left hand behind his back, and his right pressed against his heart.

He raised his head and smiled at Yuuri as the music began.

Yuuri always wondered just what had gone through Victor’s head at the Cup of China. What he could have thought to go from calm certainty to attempting to break his heart to tackle-kissing him on the ice. Watching Victor skate this program, the only one he’d chosen to change for his comeback, made him understand.

Yuuri was awed, not by his flawless jumps and impeccable spins and step sequences, but the overwhelming love his fiancé poured into his performance. This wasn’t Living Legend Victor Nikiforov skating in front of him, it was just Victor. Yuuri’s Victor, who skated for them and them alone. He didn’t hesitate to extend a hand out when Victor glided toward him just as the music swelled to its climax. He clasped his right hand in his own, drew him close, and kissed his fiancé’s gleaming ring. He looked up to find that Victor had done the same. Rather than revel in what he knew was possibly the sappiest thing to happen on the ice since their kiss at China, he nudged him forward.

_Go, then come back to me._

It wouldn’t do for him to leave the ice mid-program after all, even if it was just an exhibition skate. With a final nod, Victor flew back toward the center, returning seamlessly to his skate.

In no time at all, but what felt like an eternity, Victor was speeding to him with open arms. Yuuri, in turn, all but ripped open the box containing his other surprise. A crown of purple roses, a gift he’d been mulling over for weeks and the only thing Yuuri thought could show Victor just how much he meant to him. He laid it on his head at the same time Victor’s warm arms looped around him.

“A flower crown?” he asked, choked up and glowing.

Yuuri smiled despite the heat rising to his face. He lowered his hands to cup both Victor’s cheeks and leaned in closer. “I missed them on you.”

 

 

 

 

“Why purple roses?” Victor asked two months later, the day before his Four Continents short program.

They were curled against each other on their king-sized bed, too warm and content to be at the rink for the start of competition. It was fortunate that the men’s short program was scheduled for the second day, or else Yuuri would have missed out on this particularly blissful, lazy evening. Not that he hadn’t gotten more free time than he deserved for this particular competition.

They arrived at Gangneung, South Korea well in advance at Victor’s insistence, his wanting to spend the days leading up to Valentine’s Day in the most extravagant way possible – with a recreation of the infamous date from the Heartstrings finale, locational accuracy and all. He was sure there was some online debate between their fans and fans of the show regarding their little three-day adventure, but Yuuri was too busy being tangled in bed with the space heater that was the love of his life.

“Yuuuuuri!” A space heater whose question Yuuri still hadn’t answered. He quickly apologized for his faux pas, his voice muffled by his nuzzling of Victor’s neck. His fiancé indulged in the much-needed affection for all of thirty seconds before returning to the matter at hand.

He poked Yuuri’s exposed cheek once before pinching it gently. He used the leverage to gently pull Yuuri to face him.

“So, tell me,” Victor pressed, eyes narrowed, “why purple roses?”

“Is… that important?” he asked. He chuckled nervously and spoke again at the dry look he received, “Purple’s always been more of your color. You know, like your Stammi Vicino pair skate costume. And, um… _ilookedupflowermeaningsonline_.”

Yuuri hoped he muttered the last part out quickly enough that Victor hadn’t noticed. Yuuri, as usual, was mistaken. Victor released Yuuri’s cheek from his grasp and pushed himself upward, his head supported by propped arm.

He drew Yuuri closer. “Flower meanings?” he echoed, sounding far too pleased to be surprised.

“Can’t we just drop it and cuddle?” he pleaded, rolling over to bury himself in the valley between their pillows. Maybe if he pressed himself against the mattress long enough, Victor would give up and be distracted by his butt. He’d gotten Victor to drop several potentially embarrassing conversations with the help of his quality rear.

No such luck, because Victor laughed and squeezed him tighter. “You’re not getting away from this, darling. Tell me what they mean!”

Yuuri whines in lieu of a response and Victor pressed further, poking at his sides and begging him to “tell me, tell me, tell me pleaaaaaaase?”

“I know you looked it up online already,” Yuuri said, a few minutes of prodding and pathetic whining later. He scooted himself nearly to the edge of their bed, still within tickling range, but far enough that Victor needed to change positions to do so. “Don’t think I haven’t seen what your fans have been posting!”

“And what have they been posting about, Yuuri, hm?”

Yuuri wasn’t backing down, he knew that Victor knew just what he was talking about. Barely an hour after Yuuri’s little stunt at Russian Nationals, a particularly invested fan created a thirteen paragraph-long post on tumblr about Victor’s flower crowns and Yuuri’s departure from the signature blue roses. Its implications then became the basis of several other posts across social media. (Yuuri found the fanart and fics quite impressive.)

#FLOWERGATE – as they were calling it, caps and all – quickly rivalled the hype that both their kiss and EX pair skate caused. He was just a child, he didn’t want this.

Victor snorted, “Flying to Russia immediately after your own competition to give your loving fiancé a flower crown is hardly something a child would do, darling.”

Yuuri shushed him by catapulting himself onto an unsuspecting Victor, resulting to a tangle of panicked limbs and blankets nearly falling off. He smothered Victor against his chest, and his fiancé responded by blowing smothered raspberries into his shirt. He laughed at the warm tingling and rolled over his fiancé’s body in retribution. Yuuri smiled at Victor’s muffled laughter.

“No amount of cute is going to distract me, Yuuri!” Victor proclaimed between butterfly kisses. “You’re not getting away from me until you tell me.”

“And what if I don’t want you to leave me?” Yuuri challenged.

Victor scoffed, “Then I’ll annoy you so badly that you’ll want to get away from me. I’m told I’m very good at being a pain in the ass.”

He shook his head indulgently, “And so proud of it too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri was the twenty-third of twenty-four skaters to take the ice on the final day of Four Continents. Phichit, Leo, and a young Australian skater were currently the top skaters – all three of them now somewhere backstage to wait out the remaining skaters who stood between them and a medal. Otabek was midway into his program, and JJ would be the final skater after Yuuri.

As was often said in competition, it was the free skate that really counted, so Yuuri didn’t mind skating second to last in the free. Victor, however, still hadn’t made peace with it.

“I’m not saying he was awful,” he said, once again expressing his discontent at JJ having beaten him by a fraction of a point in the short program. If Yuuri closed his eyes and sprinkled in a few expletives into Victor’s words, he would have sworn that it was Yurio speaking… or a particularly petty stage mom.

While Victor couldn’t argue with JJ’s technical prowess, he did have a few words about the skater’s artistry. “His step sequences are decent, sure, but they have nothing on you. And I just don’t see the appeal in him skating to a song named after himself— not that that’s bad. His is nearly three minutes of ego boost and _Yuri on ICE_ is a journey of self-discovery and love. Of course, yours is equally as empowering, darling. It isn’t– ”

Yuuri pressed a finger to Victor’s lips, silencing him. His fiancé had been uncharacteristically jittery all day, constantly wringing his hands and looking off nervously to who knows where if not sneaking glances at his phone. While it didn’t affect his usual impeccable appearance, and Victor certainly looked as handsome as ever, Yuuri still noted the tiny signs of his curious behavior.

“It’s weird that you’re the panicky mess today,” he said, chuckling at the confounded look on Victor’s face. He coaxed Victor’s right hand from his coat pocket and brought it up to his own face to nuzzle. Victor’s shoulders sagged from their previous tension and he smiled. “Did you give me all your confidence then?”

In a similar bizarre twist, Yuuri had never been calmer going into a free skate. No dark thoughts swirling through his head, no fear of failure – apart from the nerves that naturally came with competing at international level, Yuuri felt like he could take the world.

“Maybe so,” he laughed, “I have been a wreck today, haven’t I?”

Slowly, Victor took his other hand out of his coat and cradled Yuuri’s other cheek with it. They spent a quiet moment just staring into each other’s eyes, reveling in each other’s touch. Whatever had been bothering Victor melted away then.

It hadn’t lasted long however, because before they knew it, Otabek was waving a hand between them, causing them to jump apart.

“I’ve finished my program,” he said, dry and nonchalant. He then turned away without another word and walked to the Kiss and Cry.

One long, shared confused look later, and Victor snorted, “He certainly knows how to ruin a moment, huh?”

“Not as loud as Yurio, but just as effective,” Yuuri agreed.

They walked hand in hand to the barriers as the audience waited for Otabek’s scores with bated breaths. In the time between their earth-shattering screams for the skater that secured his spot on the podium, Victor aided him out of his jacket and shakily applied his overpriced lip balm on Yuuri’s pitifully chapped lips.

He raised his hand to cradle Victor’s, forefinger stroking the back of his hand gently. “I don’t know what’s on your mind right now – we’re still working on communication, which we both really suck at – but I want you to forget all that right now.”

If Yuuri was the confident one between them today, then by god was he gonna milk it for all it was worth while it lasted.

“Just watch me skate,” he whispered, “Watch me win with the program we made together.”

Victor’s answering smile outshone the sun.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri won by a margin of ten points, and he now had indisputable proof that he and Victor were getting married. Of course, Victor assured him several times since Barcelona that winning gold was meant to set a time not a condition for their nuptials. However, Yuuri was a stubborn ass and needed this for himself.

He carefully stepped off the podium once the media had their fill of photos. As the gold medalist, he was the last of the three to be released from their clutches – and even then, there would surely be reporters backstage to bombard him with questions. So he couldn’t be blamed for any desperation that may have shown on his face or body language as he made his way toward the barriers to what would hopefully be a quick escape. He was sure Victor would allow him some reprieve from the press.

Preoccupied by these thoughts, Yuuri failed to notice the small gathering of people at the mouth of the rink until he had both arms around Victor’s waist, his chest flush against the brown leather of his coat.

“What’s this about?” he asked a grinning Phichit.

His friend had his phone out, positioned to frame both Yuuri and Victor in the shot. He turned to where Chris stood, who was biting down hard on his quivering lower lip. Minako and Mari, who should have been sitting in the stands, looked on with indulgence and exasperation respectively.

“Victor?” he cocked his head, perplexed. Only then did he realize that not only were Victor’s arms not around his waist as they were accustomed to, but his face was frozen in what could only be described as muted terror.

He gasped, “Did something happen? Did I do something? Oh god, they didn’t get the scores wrong, did they?”

His panicked blabbering seemed to be just the thing to snap Victor out of whatever had caused his momentary transformation into a statue. Before he could respond, however, twin peals of laughter interrupted him.

“You chose _now_ to freak out?” Chris chortled, “After all the calls and texts – _months_ of unsolicited bragging and planning – _now of all times_?”

“Can you blame him, though? Yuuri went and crushed the surprise!” Phichit attempted in vain to keep his phone steady as he spoke.

“Surprise?” Yuuri, echoed, “What?”

Mari, evidently done with the shenanigans of four children of varying levels of stupidity, stepped forward. Without missing a beat, she thumped Victor on the back of his head and did the same more forcefully to both Phichit and Chris.

“Will you just do it already?” she yawned. “It’s been a long ass day, and you have enough cameras on you already.”

Yuuri squeaked, looking around to see that there were, in fact, a handful of cameras focused on the scene and likely hundreds more in the audience. A low buzz went around the rink, the befuddled droning of several fans wondering what was taking so long. The sudden heat reached the tips of the ears the same time an odd weight settled on the crown of his head.

He turned once more to face Victor, whose face flushed a matching dark red. His larger hands were raised facing him, and Yuuri knew the sudden weight had been his doing. Victor lowered his minutely trembling hands as Yuuri slowly raised a careful one of his own from Victor’s waist to the side of his head. There, he felt something thin and velvety arranged in overlapping spirals. He dragged his fingers outward, where his fingers met soft, curled edges. He tugged at it gently, ensuring he’d only take one delicate piece from the bunch, and set it playfully on the crown of his fiancé’s head. Unsurprisingly, the small, blue petal fluttered off and away to the ground.

All the while, his eyes hadn’t left Victor, who looked on with an uncertain frown. As if what he’d just done merited anger rather than the undying love he deserved.

Yuuri wasn’t having that.

He called Phichit, surprising both them and himself by not addressing Victor first.

“Can you take a picture of us?” His friend was more than happy to comply, his ecstatic grin more than enough of a response. He turned to Chris and his sister next.

“Could you?” he began, making a vague gesture with his hands; they understood almost immediately.

“Who knew I’d see the day when Victor Nikiforov was a speechless mess?” Chris grinned.

Mari dragged her half-lidded eyes to Yuuri’s feet, “You don’t have your guards on. Don’t blame us if you fall.”

Yuuri laughed, returning his focus to the man in his arms, “A flower crown?”

Victor’s blue eyes shimmered, “I thought it would look beautiful on you.”

“And blue roses?” he asked. “Don’t these mean something like ‘the impossible’?”

Victor locked his arms around his waist and shoulders and drew him closer.  “I looked up flower meanings too, you know,” he told him, “They’re much more than that, and I couldn’t agree more.”

Yuuri smiled, nearly exploding from the warmth, “Oh?”

He nuzzled into Yuuri’s cheek, causing the crown to tilt upward slightly. “You are extraordinarily wonderful.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Purple roses can mean enchantment, often at first sight. It also refer to opulence, glory and majesty. Blue roses, while usually used to portray the impossible or unattainable, also means something along the lines of "You are extraordinarily wonderful".
> 
> Thank you again to Loris for prompting me with fluff and flowers, as well as creating the magnificent art for our collab. Thank you to my dear friend and ever-reliable beta, Anya. Thank you to Cat and Ady for all the screaming and endless support. And thank _you_ for reading ‘til the end notes!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are love! Hit me up on tumblr if you want to scream~


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